It was then half-past nine oclock, or when the dancing had been in progress about an hour, that Harry Brackett, bearing his burden of pent-up mischief, stole slyly up to the rear of the hall, where a window, opened to give a circulation of air through the place, afforded him an entrance back of the stage.
It happened, not all opportunely for the young man, however, that some of the islanders came to these dances, not for the dancing itself, but because of the opportunity it offered to meet socially and discuss matters. Of this number, long Dave Benson, who lived on the western shore, and Eben Slade, commonly called Old Slade, who lived across from the harbour settlement on the bluff, had withdrawn from the hall to talk over a dicker about a boat.
After a friendly proffer of tobacco on Dave Bensons part, the two had adjourned to one of the sheds at the rear of the hall, to get away from the noise of the music and the dancers, and had seated themselves in an old covered carryall, from which the horse had been unharnessed.
From this point of vantage, they presently espied a solitary figure emerge from the dark background and go cautiously on to the rear window.
S-h-h! whispered Dave Benson to his companion, whats going on there? Some more skylarking, I reckon. Well, there wont be any wheels taken off from my wagon to-night.
Why, it looks like that ere young good-for-nothing of the squires, said Old Slade. Thinks hes a leetle too good for dancing, perhaps, but dont mind takin a peek at the fun from the outside. Seems to be carrying something or other, though. What do you make that out to be?
Looks like a big bunch of paper to me, replied Dave Benson. But I allow I cant see in the dark like I used to however, it dont matter, I guess. Now as to that ere boat of mine, shes a bit old, Ill allow, but you cant do better for the money.
Harry Brackett, all unconscious of his observers, vanished through the open window. When he reappeared, a few moments later, he was minus the object he had carried.
Moreover, that object no longer bore upon its base the piece of tarred cloth. Harry Brackett had snatched that away as he made his hasty departure, after depositing the nest among the faded scenery stored behind the stage. Then, from a side window, he watched the effect of his plan.
The dancing was in full swing. Uncle Billy, warmed to his task, and keeping time with his foot, was calling off the numbers.
Balance your partners! Gentlemen swing! All hands around! sang out Uncle Billy.
The dancers were in great fettle. Billy Cook, boots and all, was doing gallantly. Captain Sams laugh could be heard clear to the woods beyond the pasture. Squire Brackett was actually breaking out in a smile. Henry Burns and his friends were gathered near the doorway, watching the surprising play of Billy Cooks boots.
But at this happy moment something happened to Uncle Billy Peters. His fiddle-bow, scraping across the strings in one wild, discordant shriek, dropped from his hand. His half-articulated call for a position of the dance blended into a startled yell, that brought the dancing to an abrupt stop; while Uncle Billy, his fiddle discarded, had leaped from his seat and was now dancing about the stage and describing the most extraordinary gyrations, waving his arms in the air and slapping at his face and the back of his neck, as though his own music had driven him stark, staring mad.
What on earth! ejaculated Billy Cook. He got no further. Something that felt like a fish-hook, half-way down his boot-leg, occupied his attention; and the next moment a dozen or more of the same animated fish-hooks were buzzing about his head.
Billy Cook made one frantic clutch at his boot-leg; and, failing to find relief, yanked the boot off. Swinging this wildly about his head, one foot bared and the other clattering, poor Billy fled from the hall.
The squires expansive smile faded away in an expression of anguish and wrathful indignation. Slapping madly at the bald patch at the crown of his head, and uttering fierce denunciations upon the author of the mischief, he ignominiously deserted his partner of the dance and likewise fled precipitately.
The campers had already scuttled before the storm, and in a twinkling the hall was cleared. The angry, buzzing swarm was in complete and undisputed possession.
Ill give five dollars to any one that will discover who did this outrage! cried Squire Brackett, dashing across the road to where a group of dancers had gathered. Wheres that Burns boy and that Harvey and that little Warren imp? He had a hand in it, Ill take my oath. Whoever they are, theyll get one horsewhipping that theyll remember for the rest of their lives. Get those horsewhips out of the wagons! Well teach the young rascals a lesson.
The squire had not observed that still another group of stalwart fishermen had had a word with Dave Benson and Old Slade and had already, of their own accord, provided themselves with horsewhips.
The squire only knew, at this time, that a party of the men were off down the road, with a hue and cry. He did not know that his own son was fleeing before them on the wings of fear, and being fast overtaken by his pursuers, themselves borne onward on the wings of pain and wrath.